Chapter 5

Ellen had noticed him at the airport, before the plane took off, and for other reasons besides his being the typical, globe-circling executive. For one thing, he kissed his wife goody at the gate, then each of two children, a little boy and a little girl, then his wife again with even more fervor. No one cried. Daddy was merely going off on another trip, but Ellen got the impression he hated to leave them as badly as they hated to see him go. On the plane, he sat next to the aisle across from her, so she had to look across the chest of a very ordinary man, to see the one that had caught her eye. While it was still light, he ran through what appeared to be some correspondence or reports in his attaché case. He wrote several notes with a felt-tip pen on white paper, and finally closed the attaché case, moved down in the seat, and closed his eyes. He had what she supposed was prematurely gray hair and wore it close-cropped, military style. Flawlessly dressed, he had a strong, quiet profile, and Ellen spent several minutes looking at it, hoping he'd glance her way, but he never did. When the stewardess checked seat-belts for landing, he did glance in her direction, but seemed to be looking out the starboard window for something he expected to see.

The man in the seat next to Ellen was awake by now, one of these faces that actually lose themselves in crowds, the kind accustomed to mediocrity, and resigned to not making time with a girl like Ellen, so he merely made conversation. "I was up about all last night," he confided. "Did I snore very loud?"

"Not at all. I thought you must have been tired. You went to sleep even before they served dinner. The stewardess shook you once, but you mumbled something and didn't wake up."

He smothered a yawn with his hand, shook his head vigorously to clear the cobwebs. "I got a little business back home," he explained. "Me and another guy. We're not big at all, but we do make a fair living if we get out and work, so I'm on my way to try for a sub-contract on a piece of a wheel-balancing machine, with a bigger company. We stayed up all night checking the design every which way to make sure this short-cut we worked out wouldn't throw us in the hole. We've got a low bid, we think. And I think we're okay. But it cost me my shut eye to be positive."

"Is the company located here?"

"No. I'm just changing planes. Akron. I'm going there."

Ellen was bracing herself for the landing, unconsciously. "I hope you have a successful trip."

He smiled pleasantly. "Same to you, Miss. Are you visiting someone?"

"No," she replied. "I'm thinking of starting a business for myself, like you have. Not manufacturing, but something a woman can do. At least, I'm going to look around."

The ship hovered above the runway, braking rapidly with the flaps. "Well, good luck. Hope I can stay awake next time."

Tires hit the pavement, and Ellen's breath came once more in a long sigh of relief. She locked at the window at the passing lights, wondering how there could be so many. She saw him waiting at the foot of the loading ramp, the hard, little man, looking at each person coming outside, and he saw Ellen, and his good eye settled on her. Quickly, Ellen shoved forward and grasped the arm of the man she'd been following.

Surprised, he looked down at her with an expression ranging between concern and expectancy when he saw she was pretty and well dressed. Rapidly, Ellen said, "Please act like you know me. I know it sounds like the movies, but there's a guy I don't want seeing me unescorted. I can explain later. Please?"

He didn't miss a step. "Consider us married for the time being," he said in a low, musical voice, "then, after the gamut is run, anything that best suits you. I'm Carl Eminger."

"Ellen Carver, and I could hug you. Don't look now, because he's watching you. I'll say when." They were about halfway down.

When the dark-complexioned man turned to go, Ellen pointed him out. Eminger caught the angry-looking red mark on the right side of the swarthy man's face. "You slugged him?" he murmured, half-joking.

"It happened about an hour before you came in the waiting room at Verbanna."

They were on the ground now. "Tell me," he suggested, matching strides with hers.

Ellen had the feeling of walking on clouds, even while she described the ugly incident.

"Evidently, he's still sore," Eminger commented. "Waiting for a chance to rough you up some. We'll stick together until we get away from the airport." Looking down at her, the handsome traveler had the same bright-eyed alertness of a hunter stalking a wounded buffalo. "Where were you going, Miss Carver?" he asked smoothly.

Ellen's brilliant smile tempered her next remarks. "I'm not a Miss, kind sir."

"I thought you weren't," he admitted in a way that made her feel very, very close. "You saw my wife and children at Verbanna, obviously, so there's no need to pretend. You didn't say where you were going," he reminded her.

Her hand tightened on his arm. "I don't know a soul here, and I don't know the town either. Would it be possible to go with you?"

His eyes shone with pleasure. "Delighted. I'm staying at a hotel called the Remington. Do you like hotels, Ellen?" Carefully, he surrendered her arms as they went through the gate, but got it again as soon as there was room to walk with her.

"I don't know," she laughed. "I've never stayed in one. Roy and I stayed in motels on our honeymoon trip. Are they about the same?"

"Just about, only no room for the car except at the newer hotels. You're leaving Roy, I take it. Or, have left him."

Ellen made a face. "It's a boring story, and boredom's the big reason why."

"Do you have plans?"

"In a way. I want to find a job as soon as I can."

"Nearly everyone has to work," agreed Eminger. "This is where we pick up our luggage. Let me have your check."

Later, on the way out to the cab stand, he asked, "What can you do? Do you have secretarial training?" He was almost sure she didn't.

Ellen admitted her shortcomings. "No, I can't type and take shorthand. I'll have to find something else."

"A receptionist, maybe," Carl Eminger said admiringly, anticipating her body. "Lots of business houses pay just to have a beautiful gal in the front office directing traffic."

"I'll go through the ads tomorrow," she promised herself. "I'll find something."

He opened the car door, got in after her, and this was his first opportunity to be very close to her. He put his arm around her and told the cabbie where to go. "You're very lovely," he murmured softly.

Ellen parted her lips and made them close to his. "And you're awfully handsome." She liked the way he kissed, about right for the taxi. She leaned closer so Carl's hand could slip down her dress front to cup a breast, and she felt very attached to him.

The ride to the hotel was a mixture of unending lights, traffic sounds, strange streets and building, and Carl's pressing advances. Finally, she forgot about everything else but him, though she would have liked to see part of the city, only his kisses increased in fervor the further they went, and he had his hand up her leg caressing her cunt and she was burning hot with wanting him, enough so she opened his fly and got her hand in on his penis.

The Remington had about it an attitude that it had already witnessed several rimes over all the devices men and women will employ to go to be together, and therefore didn't raise an eye when Carl Eminger, obviously well known by the desk clerk, said, "Hello, Stanley. I brought my wife along this trip." After he signed it, the registration card recorded the statement as one of truth, no one thought any more about it. A bellboy carried their luggage to the elevator. Carl and Ellen both said little. They stared at the floor and not at each other because of the heaviness of want upon them. Eminger tipped the bellboy hurriedly, shipped the chain on the lock, and rushed Ellen to the bed where they stretched out in a long, sensual, pre-coital embrace, where, when they couldn't wait any longer. Eminger still had his coat on and had only slipped his trousers and shorts down past his knees. Ellen, completely carried away by the utter delight of his gusty passion, had never been hotter. She thought it might have been his daring advances in the cab, then the strange room She gripped him tightly around the thorax and wriggled delightedly in rhythm with his purposeful thrusting. Once again, he whispered, "Are you alright, Dear?"

Without replying in words, Ellen shuddered, cried out softly, told him physically she was doing perfectly well. Excited, unable to defend against the delicious sensuality of a woman in high passion, Eminger delivered his burden in eager, groaning hunches, and they both felt wonderfully relaxed.

Twenty minutes later, they were out in the warm. Summer night, walking hand in hand and window shopping. Eminger, as he told Ellen, sold an almost unique and very sophisticated kind of computer-auditing for big manufacturing companies who could afford them. He had a special and early appointment next morning, which was why he flew in the evening before. He also said he wanted to be very much on his toes next morning, explaining why he wasn't going to take her out on the town.

Ellen didn't mind at all, and told him so. "I'd rather go to bed early and make love again," she confided wickedly, and squeezed his arm. Without hurrying, they turned back in the direction of the Remington.

Married couples couldn't have been any more deliberate about it, even down to the polite insistence that the other should use the bath first. They compromised by deciding to go at the same time, and undressed with the admiring glances that a couple temporarily in love will bestow on one another. When Ellen was naked, Carl took her in his arms for the sheer excitement of feeling her against him, and wondered if he could ever get enough of her in a single night. His penis hardened, and he drew away. "You've got it, Darling," he murmured. "My wife never lets me leave home feeling frustrated, so our first time wasn't exactly from hunger."

Ellen felt it, slid her closed hand back and forth on the shaft, enjoying the impression that somehow this man was one of the nicest she would ever meet. Eminger stood very still, his belly tensing as she coaxed sexual longing into his loins. "You do that another half-hour, then stop! stop!" he laughed excitedly.

Still holding his penis, Ellen led him to the bath, and Carl closed the sliding glass door that converted the bath into a shower. She punched her hair into the transparent plastic shower cap she had brought along, very excited over the physical intimacy of showering with a man and knowing the experience would end in a piercingly sensual intercourse. Gravely at first, the salesman from Verbanna soaped a washcloth, turned Ellen away from him, and sudsed her shoulders, back, and hips in about the same studious way a parent might wash a child. He knelt in the tub to do her legs, the spray splashing off her and onto his head, then rose abruptly to begin on her upper torso while the light conversation continued. "I'll bet you didn't get this kind of service at home."

"I couldn't even get him to come in and wash my back," Ellen contended.

"At my house, the best is none too good," remarked Eminger.

"Do you and your wife do this very often?" Ellen asked. The cloth was catching at the hardened nipples.

"It more or less stopped by necessity when the children got here," he explained. "This is a game, you know. It works good in a strange hotel room with an enchanting seductive girl when there's nothing but love in the room. At home, the domestic load weighs heavier. You don't find the time." He was on her belly now, then her crotch, lathering with the bar of soap in one hand, rubbing the sudsy hair with the other, finding the slit with his finger, and Ellen was suddenly very hot again.

Her reciprocal treatment wasn't nearly as deliberate. She spent more time on his back, and when he turned around to face her, the anticipation was there because he was already hard and waiting. Panting, Ellen soaped his pubic hair, the erect shaft, his balls, and when the spray had washed away the lather, she got on her knees and took the head in her mouth with the shower making a papery, beating sound on the top of her plastic cap. Carl stood tense and excited, his head held high, his eyes tight closed, wishing he were three men instead of one so the enjoyment could be three times as great. He turned off the water, lifted Ellen to a standing position, and covered the warm, seductive mouth with his. After a quick toweling, they got under the sheet where the soaking heat of her vagina felt marvelous to an unmercifully hard erection. "Don't hurry," whispered Ellen, drunk with desire and therefore indescribably seductive.

Eminger didn't. It was a holiday for them both. From somewhere in his marvelous, muscular physique, the salesman found an ability to withstand her animal heat long enough to quench it. He'd never encountered anything like her indestructible passion, where after her first four orgasms, he forgot to worry about how many more she could have, and concentrated on satisfying himself. By then, he was virtually insensible to her vaginal contact, or enough accustomed to it he actually felt physically able to last as long as she.

After a particularly satisfying time for Ellen with her on top, completely controlling the pace, and therefore herself, the salesman from Verbanna relaxed as much as he could and marveled at her tireless gyrations with his prick buried in her. She came once again with her usual seizing thrill, and collapsed on him to rest a moment, gasp through the after math before resuming the game. "How long does this go on?" he asked in a throaty rumble. They'd been at it going on an hour.

"I wish I knew," she sighed. "I don't know what's gotten into me. It's like a disease that won't go away. I think I'm done, then it starts feeling good all over again."

Multiple orgasm were comparatively new for Eminger. His wife came once, and once was all. When it happened, she was finished for that time. A good-looking steno he once took out and eventually put to bed never came at all, though she unmistakably enjoyed the intercourse but for that one inability. Later on, when they dressed so he could take her home, she told him she never had, but that she liked it just the same. And another one, a married brunette who told him her name was Mary Smith when they both knew better, had wrenched her thighs explosively the moment he entered her, and again immediately after he came, and this was all she wanted. Later, Eminger had decided her responses were associated more closely with imagination than to physical excitement. The reality of intercourse, then the ponderous knowledge from his climax that it was successful had prompted hers.

But Ellen Carver was something else, and Eminger suddenly realized she would have recurring spasms for so long as she had the implementation in her vaginal canal. Brusquely, he put her on her back, one hand under each deliciously curvaceous cheek, and drove at her hard and heavy. This positive attack broached even another burst of passion in her, and she came for the last time, just before he did, then cried softly for a reason she herself couldn't explain.

They had breakfast together next morning in the hotel dining room, and never saw each other again.